Forsaken Tales
by TEOL
Summary: Completed. 13 short stories, one for each of the Forsaken. Who are they? Why did they turn to the Shadow? R&R, if you like.
1. The Way To The Forsaken People

A/N: All the quotes used in this story are taken from 'The World of Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time' by Robert Jordan and Teresa Patterson. I don't own the Wheel of Time or anything to do with it, although it'd be totally awesome if I did.

So, I was reading 'Endless Nights' by Neil Gaiman, where he writes a short story for each of his seven Endless characters, and thought it would be neat to do something similar for the Forsaken. This will (when it's finished) basically consists for 13 (very) short stories, one for each of the Forsaken, set in the Age of Legends, plus a prologue and epilogue. The sub-plot about top secret documents being found in the White Tower is just idle speculation on my part as to what would happen if bits of the Guide ever turned up in Randland. Read if you want, review if you have to.

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**Prologue: The Way to the Forsaken People**

_From the War of Power to this day their names have been invoked to frighten children, though the bleakest of the tales told of the __Chosen_ _are but pale shadows of the atrocities they actually committed. _

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken' _

Wherever there is power, there will always be those who want more of it. Three thousand years ago, a chance coincidence accidentally opened a hole in the Dark One's prison, allowing him to once again exert influence upon the world. Within a few years his presence was being felt again. Evil returned to the land. War, violence, all the wrong that had been purged from the land became commonplace once more. Humanity, in its ignorance, called what was happening the Collapse. But for some, it was a release.

For those with enough ambition, anything can be achieved with enough power. For those condemned forever to languish in the mediocrity assigned to them, there can be no alternative. They were born, they grew up, they got jobs, they lived uneventful lives, and they died uneventful deaths, just like their parents before them, their peers with them, and their children after them. They would never be heroes. Who could be, when there were no villains? Even if the idea to break the cycle had occurred to them, they would have seen no way to make it happen. But for some, the opportunity came.

The Dark One gave these people the opportunity they had been waiting for their whole lives, even if they failed to realise it. The Shadow attracted all those willing to serve the Great Lord of the Dark. The ambitious, the misfits, the greedy, the angry, shunned and outcast from society. They forsook all previous allegiance, swearing to serve only the Shadow. They were given the power they lusted for, beyond that which any had ever seen, before or since. That was all they had wanted. After that, they simply had a job to do.

For millennia, nothing was known about them except their names. Now, with the discovery of a large document titled simply 'The Forsaken', which is believed to have been hidden in secrecy in the White Tower since the Breaking, the lives of these thirteen men and women can be told. Among themselves they were called Those Chosen to Rule the World Forever, or more simply, the Chosen. A fitting title for who they had become. To all others, however, to the people who reviled them, who renamed them in hatred, who they had sold their souls to one day rule, they would forever be known as the Forsaken.

This, then, is their story.


	2. Aginor

**AGINOR **

_It is certain that he Aginor chafed under the widely held belief that there was nothing left to discover, only an occasional loose end to tuck in._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

In his research laboratory, Ishar Morrad Chuain continued his experiments. At the moment his main goal was trying to cross-breed two particular strands of plant DNA together in the hope that he could produce a new type of crop, one that could feed more people. Certainly, with the recent population increase it was important work, extremely difficult and rewarding in its own way, yet Ishar Morrad was not satisfied. He grimaced as he pored over previous reports, frowned as he studied samples through microscopes, snarled as he threw away a failed sample and went to start again.

He knew what he was doing had to be done. It was useful, it was necessary, and it gave him an outlet for his abilities, and yet… Ishar Morrad could not shake off the feeling that there was something else he could be doing. He knew that he was one of the most highly respected scientists working at the Collam Daan; they did not give just anyone a third name, after all. He knew he was one of the most powerful and intelligent men living as well. That was no boast, it was simple truth; few could match Ishar Morrad, either in intellect or in the One Power. And yet… why did he feel as if his skills were being wasted? He was certain of that, too, as certain as he was of his own name, but at the same time it sounded ridiculous. He was helping people. He was making the world a better place.

He realised he was pacing back and forth across the small study, and sat down, focusing back on the papers littering his desk. Tried to focus on them. He leaned to one side, looking at the overturned desk on the floor, and then at his own hand in wonderment. Why had he done that? He was not a man prone to sudden unexplained fits of temper, yet he had felt a building sense of disquiet in himself recently. There was something missing, something he could feel but couldn't quite explain. He got up, decided he would get a servant to tidy up the mess later.

They _were _wasting him, was the problem. After all, they had already disciplined him for going outside the boundaries they had set for him. He was only now beginning to understand how to articulate his anger at being held back. That was what they were doing, he realised; they would only let him do what they wanted, and nothing else. Were they jealous? Surely not. And yet, it was the only explanation for their behaviour. They sat in their Hall, so certain they knew everything about the world, while he, Ishar Morrad, knew there were more discoveries to be made, but was unable to make them. They did not want him to prove how wrong they had always been.

His experiments with the animals, now. That was where the real progress was to be made. Cross-breeds of different animals, mixing their genes together to produce completely new animals. When one altered the genes of a plant, all that happened was a colour change, perhaps, or a varied growth rate, but imagine what could be done with animals! Human beings with animal characteristics, a new race of creatures that were stronger, smarter and more able than humans, that was what Ishar Morrad dreamed of. That would be a true mark to leave on the world. Not to be a forgotten name in a textbook somewhere, noted for his skill with genetics. He could do something meaningful – if only they'd let him.

He could feel it, somehow, deep inside himself. He knew that this was what the Creator had put him on the earth to do. He had become a biologist for himself as much as for others; not just to help people with science, but to be known and remembered for it. He had thought the accolades he was given meant something, then. But they would never let him create anything new, just recycle the old over and over again, forever.

Sighing, he headed into his secret study, apart from the rest of his work. He had kept his other projects as quiet as possible since the last time he had been caught. He didn't like having to keep everything secretive, and one day he wouldn't, but for now, he couldn't let anyone know. It was a shame, really. He had thought they would understand, that they would share his vision and _want _to make new breakthroughs, but he had been proved wrong. They were not true scientists. They would never understand what he saw.

It wasn't easy to obtain animals to experiment on, of course, but he did the best he could. He knew he was doing important work, no matter what those blind fools would say about it if he was caught again. This time, he did not mean to be caught. Some day, they would thank and respect him for his work. For now, it was all he could do to be given the chance to prove himself.

_It is recorded that Aginor went over to the Shadow because only as one of the Shadowsworn would he be allowed to do the sort of research he wanted._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	3. Asmodean

**ASMODEAN**

_Probably the man among the Forsaken with the most unusual reason for turning to the Shadow is Asmodean… he never rose to the exalted heights that many had foretold, and was never ranked among the great composers of the Age._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

The hall was near full already, although it would be another half an hour more till there was any activity on the grand stage that the many people have gathered from all around to watch. It was a big night for music lovers. Every four years, the world's greatest musicians and composers performed their newest works in the biggest concert there was. Some of those sitting in the audience had travelled for miles to be there. There was a palpable feeling of anticipation in the air.

Joar Addam Nessosin sat in the rafters, looking down at the crowd from on high. None of them thought to look up there. It made him feel safe, in an odd sort of way. And… there was something pleasing about being able to look down on those people. He knew that too many of them looked down on him. Too many of them. Soon, though, a time would come when they understood, or so he hoped.

He knew how many of the crowd did not want him to be there tonight. He knew that some of them did not even know he would play for them tonight. He had been one of the very last composers invited to attend, and even then, some claimed he would have been left out had the festival not been held in his home town of Shorelle. His music had never really lived up to the promise many had predicted so many years ago. Enough to earn him a third name, but that was hardly enough for Joar Addam; the third names seemed to be awarded to almost anyone these days, as evidenced by the fact that almost every composer there had one. Nothing less than what had been promised to him in his youth could be good enough for him. He would be remembered as the greatest composer of the Age, bar none.

It never seemed fair to him. He truly loved music. He was easily strong enough in the power to earn a place in the Hall of Servants, but he had chosen to pursue the path of the musician rather than continue with Aes Sedai training. He was good; he knew that much. His songs had been performed across the world when he was still just fifteen years of age. But there was always someone better. It could not be allowed. All he wanted in his life was one thing, and it was to be the absolute best.

The crowd was beginning to stir; soon the opening act would come on stage. Joar Addam considered climbing down, thought better of it. At least they had been sensible enough to save up his talent for the crowd, whether they appreciated or not. He would be one of the very last acts on. 'Because his piece was one of the most recently composed', the organizers had explained. Not what he had expected to hear, but good enough, he supposed.

Joar Addam had been one of the few people to have composed a piece especially for the show. Most of the other composers were relying on the crowd having not heard some of the older or rarer pieces, but Joar Addam knew better than that. Besides, he had just come off something of a dry period with his work. He had gone several years without writing anything new at all, which had been more frustrating than anything Joar Addam had ever experienced. But then, a few years ago, something had just – clicked – in his head, and he had started composing again, even more songs than before. That had happened around the same time that some people had claimed as the start of what was beginning to be known as "the collapse of society". But for Joar Addam, it had meant nothing but a rejuvenation.

There was a marked change in the style of his work, as several critics had noted; it was quieter and darker, with less substance than his earlier songs, perhaps, but more emotion. And it reflected Joar Addam's new outlook. He honestly felt different within himself. Sometimes, he felt like he hated the world. Other times, he knew he did. He worked so hard, all the time, and what had it gotten him? He was closer to achieving his ambitions, perhaps, but those people didn't appreciate him. No one appreciated him. He would have doubted his own parents had he seen them in years. His own mother had disowned him, said he had wasted his life. There had to be a way to show them he was capable of being what he wanted to be, and to punish those who had tried to make him who they wanted him to be. As long as he was in control of his own life, he didn't see that anything else mattered.

Joar Addam sighed, and slowly he climbed down the ladder back to the stage floor. He wanted to go over his piece one more time before the performance. No doubt this newest song would satisfy those who had called his current work unnerving, he thought. It was strange. It was common for songs to have as many notes and chords as could possibly be fit in the music, to create as many complicated combinations as possible, thus demonstrating the skill of the musician who played it, or so it was generally said. Joar Addam used to compose songs like that, too, but now his music was much simpler. It was quieter, and more thoughtful, or at least, that was the intention. Some people said it wasn't so much music as a collection of sounds, but Joar Addam like to think it was just a new style of music. It burned him that people didn't appreciate it, though. Someday they would. Someday, they would have no choice.

What he wanted, more than anything in the world, was time. He could fulfil the potential that he had been promised, with time. He could make everyone see his greatness, with time. He had to make people appreciate his music, and soon; he did not want to die without being remembered. He would fill the world with beautiful, endless music. Maybe it was impossible to wish for thousands of years of life with which to give the world his talent, but he had to try. All that mattered was that at this time, in this place, he was alive, and he would prolong that for however long he could, no matter what it took.

_With eternity at his disposal, surely he would reach that greatness and, perhaps even more important, the recognition of it that had eluded him._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	4. Balthamel

A/N: OK, before anyone says anything, I know it's been like three months since I last updated. Feel free to flame me for that. I cite exams and general tiredness as my excuses, but really, it's all my own fault. Fortunately, I'm starting to get back on track. I swear, I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, that Be'lal will not take this long. P.S. The word 'very' in this chapter is sponsored by my sister (don't ask).

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**BALTHAMEL**

_Though quite strong in the Power, he Balthamel was unable to distinguish himself enough to earn the coveted third name…More than once he supposedly came very close to being bound with the Power against doing violence._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

Eval Ramman liked this sort of place. The ale may not have been the best, the company less than friendly most of the time, but he far preferred it to the places most of his colleagues frequented. Most of them had no idea how normal people lived, nor did they want to know. They thought themselves better. But Eval had never deluded himself as to his own desires.

He was relaxing after a long day's arguing. That was what he spent most of his time doing these days, arguing with the people ranked over him. Fighting. He was surrounded by cowards and idiots, people who were afraid of him. _Saidin _was the only true weapon, that and swords, but the people he faced fought not with weapons, but with paper and titles and bureaucracy. But they couldn't fight him. They didn't even know where to begin.

He'd always been angry, of course; it had been one of the things he'd been most noted for by his fellow researchers. Before, it had been buried under intelligence, talent and curiosity, but soon it rose to master them. He slowly changed, although what caused it he couldn't quite say. He started seeing the world around him more clearly, visiting other parts of M'Jinn, rather than ignoring the so-called lower elements of society that his associates had such disdain for. And he saw what was immediately around him more clearly also, the foolish decisions made by the government, the stupidity that always somehow managed to rise to power. He knew that the power they wielded could never match the power at his disposal, yet he also knew that he could never defeat them without help. And that made him angry.

His temper had become infamous wherever he went, liable to snap at a moment's notice. But what could they do about it? None of them was brave enough to face him. No matter what he did, they'd never punish him too severely, and he knew it. They valued his power too much to restrict it, or bind him against violence, although they had tried. They were too afraid to deny him anything except one thing; more power.

If they gave him titles, a third name, then he would be able to fight those in charge who thought they controlled him. He'd made the decision on the very day he had felt power being taken from him that he was going to stand up to the people above him, and challenge them on the decisions they made, and take them on if that's what he had to do to get what he wanted. But as it was, they could safely ignore him, since he was 'just' a researcher. By far the strongest in the Power of anyone in the whole town, but still just a researcher, whose opinions could be safely ignored.

Fortunately for him, his lack of power against people above him was countered by his tremendous power over those alongside him. Because no one who met him face to face was willing to deny him what he wanted, he could do anything he wanted. Oh, they made their threats about binding him against doing violence, but everyone knew they would never go through with it, his skills and strength were too valuable in these dangerous days, when war seemed ready to break out any day. More than once he had heard others say to each other, "We don't want to get Eval angry, do we?" So Eval got whatever he liked, because they wouldn't stand up to him. Because they were afraid. Eval didn't know whether he should laugh or cry.

Really, all it did was confirm what he had thought the whole time, that the people who truly controlled his life were fools, too cowardly to face the monster they had created. Well if it was a monster they had created, it was a monster Eval would be too happy to give them. Perhaps they thought that by giving in to his demands, they could sate him and eventually he would stop, but he planned the exact opposite. Now he knew that he faced no restrictions, could expect no punishment or retribution of any kind against his actions, he was going to fight even harder than ever. He couldn't lose. In fact, he had already won, the day they decided they weren't going to fight back. Because they knew, deep in their hearts, that they were responsible for his anger, and they deserved everything he would give them.

Now all he needed was an opportunity. Eval would be the first to admit that he had no idea what he planned to do, but he could sense that the time to act was coming soon. Something in the air… Everyone could feel it, even if no one was certain what it was. Things were changing. An observer wouldn't notice anything different from, say, twenty years ago, but it was there, whatever it was, and Eval knew only one thing about it; when it surfaced, that would be his chance. He was keeping his eyes and ears open, watching. And waiting. Even if it took eternity to accomplish, he would have his victory.

Finishing his drink, he paid the barman and stood up. Turning, he spotted a pretty girl heading towards him. Well, at least he'd never had any trouble on that front. Smiling to himself, he walked towards her, thinking idly of tonight's dreams.

_Balthamel was drawn to the Shadow by the promise of immortality. To live forever and never age; as simple as that. He made his journey to Shayol Ghul to pledge his soul somewhere in the middle years of the Collapse._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	5. Be'lal

A/N: Dear SmurfKiller (and everyone who has reviewed this story, but most particularly SmurfKiller for raising the most good points)

First of all, thanks for being the cool kind of reviewer who follows a story and offers lots of constructive criticism. Now, you say that I only give very brief details of the thought processes of the Forsaken. This is true, but really, I wouldn't be able to write the story that explains the exact circumstances surrounding each Forsaken's turn to the Shadow. Blame it on a quirk of the imagination, but I seem to be able to visualise everything passively much better than I can actively. You'll notice that there's been next to no dialogue in the entire story, and I intend to keep it that way. It's about thoughts over actions, a snapshot of that person's mental state during that time period, if you like. It'd probably stay that way even if I wanted to change it.

(And incidentally, while the Balthamel chapter took several days and had me poring over every word. for this one I thought about it in the back of my mind while doing other stuff for a couple of weeks and then sat down and typed it out in less than an hour. So I guess these things just work differently. Or maybe I'm more like Be'lal than I know.)

Keep on killing Smurfs.

Peace Out,

Asmo.

P.S. I know a number of people have asked if these really are the real names of the Forsaken. Well, I suck t making up names and I'm a stickler for detail, so yes they are. They're all mentioned in The World of Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time (where the 'Forsaken' quotes are plagiaris- I mean, borrowed from), various places in the main books, and any reputable WoT/Forsaken fansite.

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**BE'LAL**

_A tall, athletic man with close-cropped silver hair, Be'lal combined and surpassed the strengths of both Rahvin and Sammael, being both a patient and cunning planner and a capable fighter willing to do battle directly with the foe._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

In the arena, dozens of swords clattered against one another, over and over. Most of them were wooden, although a few men were using real swords, those who were more daring and willing to risk what they had. And the best, too, the ones confident enough in their abilities to avoid injury. Few of them would have been able to express exactly why they came nearly every day to practice their swordsmanship, and most of them were old enough to remember a time when no one had raised a weapon against another with the intention of doing harm. They all knew those days were over now, though, and they all knew a time would soon come when these new skills would be vitally important.

Some of the men in the arena were in awe of Duram Laddel Cham. He had already proved himself one of the most capable fighters in the world, developing a style that complemented his peripheral vision and tactical mindset perfectly, and he remained undefeated. He himself paid little attention to such things. He knew what he wanted, and how he was to achieve it.

Of course, he took great pleasure in demonstrating to the simpletons around him how much better he really was. Their skill could never match up to his. Duram Laddel enjoyed surrounding himself with people like that, people who he could feel superior to. It was encountering people who had more than he did that he couldn't stand, and avoided at all costs.

Take Lews Therin, now. The man was his friend, and had been for years now, but recently Duram Laddel had been feeling oddly… distant from him. He had never really understood him, honestly. The man was far too willing to give up what he wanted for the benefit of others, and that puzzled him. Not that Duram Laddel was selfish, just… sensible. The way the world was going, a man had to look out for his own interests.

Personally, he had never understood why Lews Therin had ever left Mierin in the first place. Not that there was anything wrong with Ilyena, but Mierin was _stunning_, and she was obsessed with the man. Of course, now the poor woman was insensible since the accident, but to Duram Laddel it seemed like the first in a long line of mistakes Lews Therin had made. He just couldn't understand what was wrong with him.

After all, even Lews Therin would probably admit that Duram Laddel was his superior with the blade, and he had the most cunning tactical mind under the Light, even if he did say so himself. And yet, the people looked up to Lews Therin as the First Among the Servants, as a leader, and saw Duram Laddel as nothing more than a second in command. It was even more maddening than the way they treated this Elan Morin Tedronai. This man, a _philosopher_, a man who likely didn't know one end of a sword from the other, was supposed to be the terrifying leader of the forces of Shadow people were already naming Ishamael, the Betrayer of Hope? Yes, he may have been strong in the Power, and so was Lews Therin. But Duram Laddel knew that wasn't real fighting. The only true battle was fought between two men using nothing but their weapons and their wits, not fancy tricks. And that made him the greatest of them all.

Really, it was dangerous to their chances of victory to put incompetent people in charge of troops. Duram Laddel remembered well the time he had beaten Lews Therin in a game of stones, proof enough as far as he was concerned of his tactical superiority. But no one else seemed to see it that way. No one ever listened. It wasn't right.

Well, they had their names for him as well. One in particular had always struck a chord with him, given to him by Lews Therin: the Netweaver. "I can always rely on Duram Laddel to make plans that won't come unravelled," he used to joke, and they would both laugh. Pretty soon the nickname had caught on. That was one thing the man had given him, he supposed. But Duram Laddel had to do something. Not just for himself, this time, but for everyone.

Because, no matter how hard he looked at their friendship, he simply couldn't put faith in Lews Therin as a leader. In fact, their friendship just made it harder for him to do so; everyone knew of Lews Therin's strengths, but only someone like Duram Laddel thought about the man's weaknesses. And he had many, his arrogance, his unwillingness to change a plan after it had been put into execution, his lack of real fighting ability, his overpowering attachment to his wife and family, the list went on and on. They needed someone stronger to lead the forces of the Light, or else defeat was almost certain. And Duram Laddel could think of no one better to do the job than himself.

Deep down, though, he knew that it wasn't just about that. He listened to people; it was difficult to be the kind of shrewd manipulator he was known as being without keeping eyes and ears open at all times. He heard the way people spoke, the things people said about Lews Therin Telamon and Mierin Eronaile and Elan Morin Tedronai and Ilyena Moerelle Dalisar and even Barid Bel Medar. One name that didn't seem to be on anybody's lips, however, was Duram Laddel Cham. Well, that would have to change.

Someday soon, when the opportunity arose, he would seize the power that was due to him. He wanted it all, and he would have it all, that much was certain. And then, when he achieved what he wanted, then the people would be talking about him. He would be remembered then. And the people would remember and tell the story of Duram Laddel Cham for thousands of years.

_That Be'lal was good at what he did is proven by the honorific third name, but not by any other source. He is the Forsaken about whom the least is known._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	6. Demandred

**DEMANDRED**

_Born one day after Lews Therin, Demandred had almost as much strength and almost as much skill. He spent years almost equalling Lews Therin's accomplishments and fame. If not for Lews Therin Telamon, he would have undoubtedly been the most acclaimed man of his Age._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

The news had hardly been fact for longer than a few hours before it was on the desk of Barid Bel Medar, to be studied, analysed, criticised and denounced. During times like these, it never took long for news to travel; everyone wanted to know what was happening, what would be done to stop the encroaching Shadow, or indeed if anything could be done to stop it. But it had always travelled faster for Barid Bel, especially this kind of news. He was a man who always made sure to stay on top of current events.

And he had been waiting for this news for some time. Ever since war had officially been declared by the forces of the Shadow, the rumours had been flying around regarding who would command the forces of the Light. Names had been mentioned, Tel Janin Aellinsar, perhaps, or Duram Laddel Cham, and even his own. Ultimately, though, the decision fell to the Hall of Servants to decide who would be given control over all the forces of the Light. And Barid Bel knew who they had to choose.

He had never met the much-vaunted Lews Therin Telamon, but he knew him well. Well, he could hardly help it, could he? His whole adult life, he had tried to stand out, to do things no one else could, to be respected and honoured as a leader, and what had he gotten? He was always compared to Telamon. Every time, it was the same. Everything he did wasn't quite good enough. It drove him to try harder, to achieve even one thing that people would accept as better than Lews Therin's, but it was never enough. He hadn't worked his entire life to be second best to anyone, much less someone who he knew was his inferior. Any direct comparison showed the difference, in terms of cunning, strategy, intelligence, or any criteria you chose. Barid Bel always came out as the better man. Yet he couldn't even get accepted as an equal to the man.

He had been waiting and waiting for the opportunity to finally demonstrate this once and for all, for the people to finally accept him as the best, and he had thought that the opportunity had finally arrived when the war broke out. On the field of battle, that was the perfect place to show once and for all who the better man was! Lews Therin could barely even win a game of stones. He was little more than an overconfident fool, whose ridiculous pans would likely kill more of his own men than of the enemy. He arrogantly believed that everything would come through for him. Barid Bel could see it, even if apparently no one else could. He had never thought about the odds, never weighed up the chances or made the difficult decisions like Barid Bel had. Lews Therin was willing to trust to blind luck that things would work. He had no idea how to gamble with men's lives at stake.

Finally, then, Barid Bel had found an area where he was undoubtedly the better man. There could be no argument. As soon as war had been declared, he had started to gather men, form an army to defend the Light. He had marched out onto the battlefield – well, not him personally; his talents were too important to be lost to a stray arrow – and fought battles, and won. His army had won more victories than Aellinsar's, and suffered fewer losses than Cham's (it was only a pity as far as Barid Bel was concerned that the man himself had not been among them). And what had Lews Therin done this time? Lews Therin had done nothing. Lews Therin had barely even stepped foot on the battlefield yet, despite the fact the war had been raging for almost a year now and the Shadow was advancing in power with every day. Lews Therin was content to sit in the Hall and hide behind bureaucracy, afraid that he would finally be exposed as a fraud. This time, they couldn't take it away from him. This time, Barid Bel knew they would have no choice but to give him the power and respect and honour he had craved for all these years. They would have no choice but to acknowledge him as the better man once and for all.

So when the news arrived that the Hall had appointed Lews Therin Telamon as the Commander of the Forces of the Light, and unanimously ratified this decision, it proved what Barid Bel had suspected all along. They were conspiring against him. The man was terrified of him and too spineless to confront him face to face! And they allowed him to do so! They _humoured_ him! It could not go on. He could not continue fighting in an army controlled by that pathetic coward. Did they not realise how many people could die in order to satisfy the man's vanity? Were they unaware that with Lews Therin in control, they could very well lose this war? This was nothing but unbridled arrogance.

They had passed him over every day of his life, and they were going to pass him over again. Well, he'd had enough. If they wanted to lose this war so badly, then they could see how well they managed to do without their best general fighting for them anymore. Every single person who had ever slighted him, who had ever suggested that he was inferior to the so-called Lord of the Morning, would get to see his power first hand as he crushed them. He would be second best to no man. All who had dishonoured him would feel his wrath. He would make them realise that, compared to him, they were ordinary. They would realise that they were common, that they were in the presence of a superior being. And they would realise that the reason they loved Lews Therin so much, was because he was one of them.

And as for Lews Therin? He knew that one day, it would come down to just the two of them. No one for him to hide behind, no one but Lews Therin Telamon and Barid Bel Medar. And then the people would see how their precious Dragon fared. Barid Bel may have been born one day after Lews Therin, but there was nothing he could do about that. The one thing he could control was when Lews Therin died and was forgotten, while Barid Bel lived forever.

_His hatred and jealously of Lews Therin Telamon increased with every honour Lews awarded him. He apparently also made a cold calculation that, with Lews Therin in command, the Shadow was the more likely victor. In the third year of the war, he turned to the Dark Lord to avenge his overwhelming hatred of the Dragon, and was called Demandred._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	7. Graendal

A/N: joe-ashaman – Thanks for the praise. I agree that the hatred for Lews Therin didn't come across very well in Demandred's chapter, but that's just because of how I think of him and Sammael – while Dem hates him more, he has more of a quiet, seething rage that builds and lets him plan, while Sammael's temper is more explosive. At least, I think so. Book 11 is indeed freaking awesome, but that's another fic for another time.

Cat Alex – 'gotten' is one of the coolest words in the English language. Nothing you can say or do will change that.

SmurfKiller – Valid point, but I disagree. Recall that Lews Therin really is almost identical to Rand in every way except three thousand years in the past. This also means that (like Rand) RJ is hopelessly in love with him and makes sure that everyone else is bitter and jealous of him. And also that Lews Therin (like Rand) is annoyingly arrogant and abrasive to anyone who disagrees with him. Could you see Taim praising Rand (grudgingly or otherwise) at any time other than when Rand is standing right there in front of him? I can't. The real point is that it was Lews Therin's own arrogance that made many of the Forsaken turn, which then leads into the other point that, from all apparent evidence, they made the right choice (since they were still alive three thousand years later, unlike Lews Therin). Lews Therin probably will continue to come off as an ass every time he's mentioned, simply because I think he is an ass.

**GRAENDAL**

_Those who knew Graendal well often did not like her. While her public calls for a sparse life were always moderate, in private she was inevitably abrasive and cutting towards anyone who did not live up to her standards, which meant toward everyone._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

Inside her inner sanctum, Kamarile Maradim Nindar stretched herself out across a lounge and did her best to relax. She found it strange that she thought of this room as such, but she did. It was her place, a place where she could be herself, and think whatever she wanted to think, and say whatever she wanted to say. Not that she ever let anyone else in – or at least, anyone in a position to pay attention to what she was saying – but she could say things if she wanted to.

There were a few of her pets, of course, but they hardly counted. As often as not they were completely in thrall to her, unable to think of anything else, and that was how she liked it. Only a few now, but there would be more; for now she had to be careful, signs of the Dark were rooted from every place, and if anyone had a hint of what went on in here then it could be over for her already. Which was why she made sure they never had even a hint.

They saw exactly what she allowed them to see, on the outside. She supposed that, if she had wanted to, she could make sure they all still thought she was who she had been, but that would have been pointless. At least, it would have been to her. She wanted to show them exactly what she thought about the world they had created for themselves. She had worked so hard, given her whole life, towards helping other people, using her skills and talents for the good of society rather than her own good, as she was expected to. She tried to teach them how they should live, and they had never listened. And one day… there was just nothing left. She couldn't do it any more.

On that day was born the entity that now lived inside her body and spoke with her voice. At least, that was how she sometimes thought of it; other times she saw no difference between herself and her other self, and that was fine, since she wanted nothing to do with Kamarile Maradim Nindar any longer. In the privacy of her own head, she thought of her alter ego as 'Graendal'. And Graendal had a much clearer view of the world than Kamarile Maradim ever had.

Softly, she stroked the heads of one of her pets who had brought her some wine. Her smile brought eager joy to his face, and his eyes sought for any other way he could please her. He worshipped her. They all did; she had seen to that. And soon, everyone would. She had chosen them especially, as the people who would likely have objected most had this little secret been revealed. Irony was never lost on her. They would have tried to put strangleholds on her, to force her into following their way after they had refused to follow hers. Kamarile Maradim might have accepted that, but Graendal never would have. And so this was the way things had to be.

It had never been difficult to control them, even through less obvious means than simple Compulsion. Human minds were… the most exquisite of creations. They built up their defences and their walls, but there was always one weak point, one gap where all one had to do was apply the slightest amount of pressure to send it all crashing to the ground, if you knew how. And Kamarile Maradim had known better than anyone. No one knew more about the workings of the mind than her, and she had used that knowledge to help those who had suffered such a fate, once upon a time. Not any longer.

And so it was the simplest of things for her to occasionally nudge someone in one direction, or manipulate them in the other. So many people were convinced that they had her figured out, as it were, when they didn't know the first thing about her. And she liked it that way. They did not deserve to be part of her life, would never see anything in her until the day that she had them in her power, but as long as she could make them think they did know her, and knew what she knew, then she could make use of that.

If it was her body that she had to make use of, for that matter, then she would use it. She was well aware that she was beautiful; occasionally people mentioned others who were thought of as even more so, like Mierin Eronaile or Ilyena Therin Moerelle, certain that it would throw her off, but it never did. It made no difference to her. It was only other people's perceptions that determined it, and why should she care what other people thought? Their minds were the playground where she ruled and played her games.

And as long as she was trying to take the place of power she was owed, she might as well suit herself. That meant no more trying to help the people who snubbed her in her old life. They could rot for all she cared. Now she had only herself to worry about, and it gave her the chance to show them exactly what their kind of life would bring them. She could do whatever she wanted. She had already proved herself to be superior to them, perhaps even something other than human, a higher being whose will was law to her servants. They were distracted now, by the Shadow. She would play her own role in that, of course, a means to an end. And then, she would ascend to her position, and they could never stop her.

_Extreme hedonism replaced Graendal's asceticism… sensual and sexual pleasures took primacy over everything else. There is no evidence that this change was caused by the Dark One. Instead, it seems to have stemmed from a realisation that the world could never live up to her standards._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	8. Ishamael

**ISHAMAEL**

_Foremost of the thirteen who formed the high council of the Shadow's forces was Ishamael, or 'Betrayer of Hope' in the Old Tongue… believed to be the most powerful of the Chosen, he was equalled by none but Lews Therin Telamon himself._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

Although many criticisms would later be made about the way in which the crisis of the impending War of the Shadow was dealt with by those in charge at the time, no one could say that the governments of the world idly sat back and did nothing. Certainly, once the full extent of the danger faced was beginning to become apparent to the forces of the Light, it was with commendable speed that ideas about what should be done were raised. Admittedly, many of these ideas had no chance of working, and some were perhaps even worse than surrendering to the enemy; but as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Many conferences would be called to discuss these ideas and select a course of action. This one, held in the Hall of the Servants in Paaren Disen itself, was one of the first, one of the largest and perhaps one of the most memorable, and arguably set the tone for those that would follow it. Representatives from all over the world were in attendance, as well as all of the top ranking Aes Sedai. Observe, if you will, the First Among Servants and Lord of the Morning himself Lews Therin Telamon, accompanied by his wife Ilyena, sitting on the High Seat and commanding a great deal of attention in the room. Or perhaps watch Barid Bel Medar, brooding quietly while Lews Therin speaks, attracting almost – but not quite – as much attention himself.

Observe Elan Morin Tedronai, although very few people were, a fact he had made a note of. He didn't mind, for the moment. He had no doubt that very few people would leave this building without thinking about the things he planned to say and do today. He was a patient man, as philosophers generally were, and it wouldn't do to rush such a momentous occasion. He had been planning this for a long, long time.

He looked again at the sha'rah board that had been provided for him on his request, to play against anyone who happened to pass or just to keep his mind focused, and he wondered again exactly why they had invited him to come here in the first place. Oh, he could see their line of reasoning, of course; there was no denying that he was perhaps the most renowned philosopher living, and that his presence would undoubtedly add to the prestige of the entire conference. But he still didn't know exactly what it was that they expected him to say. Probably not what he was going to say, he reflected; they were fools to the last man, and would not understand. It didn't matter, he supposed, but he disliked ignorance and curiosity. They were weaknesses.

He had never had any real desire to be remembered, though there was a good chance that would be unavoidable after today. It was often said that he was the most well-known philosopher in the world, and while that was true, he didn't often consider it that way himself; he was known, he supposed, in the right circles. He had made his mark on his chosen field and some others as well, and there was little doubt that his books were influential, if not widely read and often criticised as too complex. It didn't bother him; he hadn't written for money or fame, just for the knowledge that his thoughts were out there, available to be seen and read and understood. If some imbeciles were too ignorant to comprehend his ideas, then what was that to him?

But he had no choice. He had been chosen to play a role in the upcoming conflict, as so many had. One of the reasons he stood out, he knew, was his strength in the One Power, almost unequalled by anyone living. He had often wondered about that. Why him? Why was he so strong? He had never even tried, for most of his life, too interested in solving the mysteries of the world to develop his power – but it had developed by itself. It was only recently, seeing the conflict that he would soon be unwillingly thrust into, that he had taken the time to really learn how to use his power to defend himself.

But now he felt certain that he knew. He had indeed been chosen, the latest in a line of human surrogates for the spirits of the battle between good and evil, as had Lews Therin. Today was the first day he had seen Lews Therin since he had arrived at his conclusions from the available evidence, and he had to admit that it was strange. This man was destined to be his nemesis, although he bore him no hostility now. Perhaps that would change. And the man himself had greeted him warmly, like old friends who had been parted for too long. He supposed they were that, although Elan Morin had never considered the man to be his friend, but it was strange nonetheless.

His life had been something of a surreal dream since the day he had come to his conclusions, but he saw no other explanation for the evidence. There could be no doubt. The end of the world was coming, and fate had cast him on the side of evil. Some might have tried to resist such a fate, but Elan Morin did not see the point. Fate was fate. If this was to be his life, he would embrace it, rather than fight a losing battle. The only predictable thing about the future was uncertainty, and in such a chaotic climate, the only things that mattered were victory and survival. Morality was nothing but a shackle for the weak.

He had to admit that he hoped people would actually listen to what he had to say, to see things from his point of view, and hopefully join him. If even one person in this room turned to the Shadow after this conference as he would, then it would be better than he could have dreamed. Not that he expected any of them to listen. Some had come to prepare for the imminent conflict having already chosen their side, and that Elan Morin could at least respect. But so many of them had come foolishly searching for a way to avoid the inevitable, weaklings clutching at the last shreds of society. Those he would not tolerate. Soon he would show them the error of his ways. He suppressed a laugh as he thought of the irony. Only he knew what it was that they faced, and that revelation could easily crush them. But it would be needlessly cruel to keep it from them.

"Our next speaker is one of the world's most highly regarded philosophers." Lews Therin's voice. Elan Morin had almost forgotten about the conference going on around him. Apparently Nemene Damendar Boann had just given her speech on the subject of how potential casualties of the war would be dealt with. "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Elan Morin Tedronai."

Some light applause as Elan Morin rose and took the stage. Lews Therin smiled at him as he passed, and he returned it. It would be the last time, after all, so it only seemed fair. The smile was still on his face as he waited for the noise to die down and prepared to speak.

_Ishamael certainly was among the first to pledge himself to the Shadow, possibly the first. His public announcement of this, coming from a world-respected figure… in the middle of a conference called to discuss dealing with the crisis, sparked even greater riots… he called for the complete destruction of the old order – indeed, the complete destruction of everything._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	9. Lanfear

**LANFEAR**

_From various bits of evidence it seems that Lanfear was not among the first to go over to the Shadow, but when she did pledge her soul to the Dark One, it was for the most basic of reasons: love and hate._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

Mierin Eronaile had spent some time lying here, though she knew not for certain how long. For the first few days she had been constantly drifting in and out of consciousness, and it had disoriented her, but it must have been at least a week. Her entire body ached. She had had nothing to do but think for some time, and it wasn't pleasant.

She supposed that, as people had repeatedly told her, she was lucky to have survived the destruction of the Sharom. She only vaguely recalled it happening herself. The last thing she could remember from it was her colleague, Beidomon, channelling to make another adjustment to the experiment. After that she had woken up in burning wreckage with someone talking to her, asking her name, and… she shuddered at the memory, and then regretted it. She would rather concentrate on the immediate pain than reflect on exactly how she had survived the explosion and the subsequent fall.

Most people, Mierin had been informed, would feel grateful to have survived such a disaster, rather than resentful that it had ever happened in the first place. Kamarile Maradim Nindar had told her that; she had been brought in to examine her after the doctors observed how unresponsive she had become. Mierin did resent what had happened and resented Kamarile Maradim, too, and had consequently been diagnosed with something called 'post-traumatic stress disorder', guaranteeing future visits. Mierin had been under the impression that people were supposed to look after you in hospitals, not try to torture you.

That thought reminded her of the other specialist they'd brought in to help her, immediately after the accident when her injuries were most severe. She couldn't remember the name, Nemene something, although she recalled hearing the name somewhere before; it would probably come back when she recovered. But she did know that Healing generally didn't hurt that much. And she hadn't liked her manner either, putting her through all that and then telling her that the severity of her injuries meant she'd be bedridden anyway! It wasn't something she planned to forget, for the time being. As soon as she dealt with her other problems, like being stuck in a hospital bed, she'd make the time to deal with her.

And she had to think of Lews Therin, as well. He had come to visit her a couple of times since the accident, but never stayed long, making some excuse about being busy with his duties as First Among Servants, and hadn't come back at all since discovering that she would make a full recovery. She thought he could have found a little time in his busy schedule to reassure the woman who loved him when she had almost been killed. She could almost believe he was telling the truth when he said he no longer loved her, though she knew that was of course ridiculous. He could never betray her, not when she needed him like this.

The other day, once she had properly regained consciousness, they had come in to tell her that Beidomon had succumbed to the severity of his injuries not long after being admitted. She had surprised herself with how little she felt at his death. It hadn't been too long ago that she had thought of herself as a warm-hearted person. But since this she just felt dead inside. She found herself looking back and seeing nothing in her life. What if she had died in the accident? What would people say about her life? Nothing bad, of course, but even terrible things would be better than nothing at all.

She hated the thought of Lews Therin being away from her. Of course they had had problems, but so did everyone. Couldn't he see things the way she did? She only wanted what was best for him, for them both. She loved him even though he hurt her sometimes, and he loved her even more for that, she was certain. How could he not love her? For years men had thrown themselves at her for her beauty, but she couldn't care anything for them. What were they to her? They were shallow, only caring about her appearance rather than who she was. Lews Therin was different, though. He was the First Among Servants, the most powerful channeller in the world. He was the only man good enough for her, and she was the only woman good enough for him, even if he didn't always see that.

She had been through so much pain, so much trauma, both mental and physical, and she didn't know how much more she could take. She had to redouble her efforts to bring Lews Therin back to her, once she was well enough; the thought of him by her side was the only one that kept her going. She wanted to use the strength she had, unleash it on others and make them feel what she felt, suffered as she had suffered… but she couldn't do that. Lews Therin gave her the support she needed to keep her emotions under control. And without that…

Without that, she would do as she wished. And she knew that deep down, she was heartless. Without that, she herself would unlock the gates of darkness, and let night envelop the world.

_Lanfear was involved in many atrocities, perhaps more than most of the Forsaken, but the people she governed had more than the usual horrors of the Shadow to face; they feared sleep itself. Suicide rates were extremely high in her territory…_

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	10. Mesaana

**MESAANA**

_Unlike Semirhage, or Graendal, the Chosen called Mesaana turned to the Dark Lord because she was not the best in her profession… her dreams were shattered when she was denied a place at Collam Daan._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

The steady ticking of a clock was the only noise permeating the dull atmosphere of boredom and concentration that hung heavy in the air of the classroom. Saine Tarasind hated ticking clocks, the way they would interrupt her train of thought. She sat at the head of the classroom while several dozen students undertook their exam. Such an activity seemed pointless to her, but then, she knew first-hand how ridiculous the Collam Daan's requirements were.

This, then, was what she had been reduced to: trapped in the role of an instructor, teaching those who still had a chance to realise their dreams, rather than having them snatched away. These children were foolish, naïve. They couldn't understand what that was like. Neither did the board at the Collam Daan. It was obvious why they held her back. She could see it that day when she faced them, although she kept it inside. None of them had ever worked for anything in their lives. They must have had everything handed to them on a plate. They'd never encountered anyone who had given everything they had to their dream, to their chosen profession, and they were scared to death of her. In Saine's mind, in was always someone else's fault. But she wasn't willing to sit back and let them get the best of her.

Saine knew she was right, because to the best of her knowledge, she'd never been wrong. Her superior intellect had dazzled people from a young age, and her determination left them certain that she would go on to great things. For Saine, a place in Collam Daan should have just been the start; honours, a third name, perhaps even a place in the Hall of Servants, all this awaited her. And yet, one board decided she was 'unsuited for research' and all of a sudden, here she was. Had they any idea what it was like, to want something so badly and work so hard for it and then to lose it all in one day? And that's when realisation came to her; they could only have done what they had done if they didn't know that. Hence, they had never wanted for anything. The logic was clear in her mind.

Honours were only what were predicted for her, though. She couldn't say she cared much for titles. Recognition of power was for the vain and the greedy; Saine much preferred the feeling of superiority that was gained from the knowledge that you had done something worthwhile, that made you better than others, and to let them wallow in their own ignorance. But here she was not doing anything she could be proud of, just wasting time in repetitive and monotonous tasks, and she hated every second of it.

She had tried to adjust to this new position, she really had, to gain what power she could from what little authority she had as an instructor. She took control as best as she could in lessons, taught what she wanted to teach rather than what she was expected to, advancing or holding back students as she saw fit. But she knew she was just playing in her own microcosm while outside it, the real world and real power beckoned. So she could never really enjoy it, especially when it brought her into contact with students, who tended to annoy her with their questions and demands. What had they done to earn any of her wisdom and knowledge? Had they given everything for their studies and advancement? Saine doubted any of them were willing to make that sacrifice, as she had.

She had gained one thing, though, from this entire experience; a little more knowledge about how the minds of young people worked. She couldn't say she had understood much about children before, despite the fact that it was admittedly not so long since she had been one herself (or still was one, apparently, in the eyes of her 'superiors') and she had gained some valuable insight. Her attempts to glean some sort of power from her situation had made her realise something; children really did have a power all of their own. They had the potential to change the future in ways that their elders did not. Children could be controlled, manipulated and brainwashed in way that were impossible with adults; their minds were there to be shaped, and it was the teacher's task to do so. With a little more power, perhaps, she could shape them as she pleased rather than as those fools saw fit. Lessons could become doctrines, opinions could become facts, ideologies made real and concrete and certain. That was the real power available to a good teacher, and Saine was undoubtedly good at her profession, even if evaluations had mentioned that he resentful attitude greatly affected her skill.

She was certain that there was a way for her to escape that hell, one that she had yet to discover, but that she would find soon. And in quiet moments like this one, she planned exactly what she would do when that chance came, how she would take the power she had been given and turn it against those who had denied her in ways more terrible than anything they could imagine. Those thoughts were the only ones that gave her any pleasure here. She tapped her lip contemplatively as she observed the students placed in her 'care', indeed studying them most carefully. She idly wondered if anyone suspected what lay behind her pensive eyes, and she gave herself a satisfied smile. Only she could show them, once and for all, what true intelligence could do.

_During the Breaking, bands of brigands looted, killed and destroyed almost as if in a race to see whether they could smash the world before the male Aes Sedai could; the common name for these brigands was 'Mesaana's Children'._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

A/N: It's been a year to the day that I first started this story. It was supposed to be finished in about three months, so I guess I'm even slower than RJ. However, I take comfort in the knowledge that I made it all the way through this chapter without using the super clichéd 'Teach them all!' line.


	11. Moghedien

**MOGHEDIEN**

_Moghedien was an 'advisor for investments', a profession that no source explains… it is recorded that she was cautioned a number of times, and even disciplined, for violating its ethics and the laws surrounding it._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

Almost before she had finished reading the message in her hands, Lillen Moiral was making the necessary preparations that she had known she would need a long time ago. In fact, that was not entirely accurate; she had made the necessary preparations when she had realised she would some day need them, and now it was simply a matter of putting them into effect. Lillen had never put off a contingency plan any longer than she had to. She had always been fully aware of the risks, and she refused to be a victim of circumstance when she could see the danger coming.

Even in the old days, before she had found her current master, she had had plans like this in place in the event of the worst coming to the worst, and back-up plans in case they failed, and back-up plans for the back-up plans. Her changing situation had simply meant she had needed to step them up slightly, and be more prepared. There was no emergency that she had not thought of in advance, no unexpected event that she had not expected. When it was her life at stake, Lillen was meticulous to the last detail. After all, she wanted to stay alive, otherwise she would never have gotten into this in the first place.

It had not been easy, these last few years, working her way into a position of trust among Lews Therin's administration. Espionage was a risky business, one that she didn't like to involve herself in, yet one into which fate had cast her, and with good reason. She trusted no one else with such difficult and delicate work, yet she hated the constant danger in placed her in. Now her fears were starting to come true, but she had to stay focused. It was up to her to save herself, now – her master would not lift a finger to rescue her if she was captured, except to make sure that she gave nothing away, and he had only one way of doing that… She swallowed, trying not to think about it. Concentrate.

Lillen hurried to the open window and climbed through, her feet feeling for the ladder she knew must be there. Carefully climbing down – no need to ruin a perfectly good plan by breaking her neck, after all – she lightly dropped into an alleyway and took a moment to get her bearings. As much as she hated it, she had to rely on someone else momentarily, but it was not as if she could be everywhere at once. The message would have been sent to one of her other contacts in the city, the diversion would be set in place. Wouldn't it? A useless thought. If it wasn't there was nothing she could do, she would be as good as dead already. She only had one chance, and she had to make it.

Quietly creeping down the path, she leant against a wall and waited. Didn't they understand that she never wanted this? They left her no choice! Every way she turned, she had felt them trapping her, tangling her up in their plans. She would not be a pawn to their foolish games, knowing there was no chance she could ever reach the top. Every time she had tried to branch out for herself, gain some kind of advantage on the road to advancement, they had found some reason to knock her back again. She wasn't going to stand for it. She controlled her own destiny. If she couldn't achieve anything by improving herself, she would do it by destroying others. And although it had taken some time, she had finally found someone who would led her do exactly that. Her new master.

Suddenly, a huge explosion a few blocks away knocked her off her feet, and she fell to the floor. A smile crept its way across her face, and she wanted to laugh exultantly. It was working! She shook herself mentally. No time to waste. There was only one route out of the city that she could use, and she was trusting to luck that the explosion would distract enough of the guards that she could get through it. She scurried away, looking for the path, trying to get through the gathering crowds unnoticed.

Yes, they had tried to tangle her in their scheming and intrigue, but now she was the mistress. Under the Great Lord, of course, but to run of the mill Darkfriends, what difference was there? Now she was the Spider, spinning her own web, and those caught in it would feel her poison. Poisonous hatred that filled her bones, made her unscrupulous, vicious, uncaring – and dangerous. There was nothing she couldn't do. She was all-powerful. This was the feeling she had dreamed of, the one they had tried to keep her from! Oh, they called her a coward, laughed at her for being cautious. But they knew that if they stepped over that line, if they stepped into her web, they would find out just what a coward could do. And those who didn't know soon found out, the hard way.

There it was. Her route to freedom. Of course she had known she would be given away eventually, but with the right preparations, there was no development that could not be overcome. She was about to make her way through the gate to the small sho-wing she had hidden just outside for such a circumstance when she saw that one uniformed man still remained. Apparently the sabotage and the explosion hadn't caused all the guards to leave their posts. She could use the Power to get through, perhaps use Folded Light to pass unnoticed, but who knew what attention that could attract? For all the uses the Power had, one of its biggest weaknesses was the over-reliance some people had on it. The sort of lack of lateral thinking that would allow someone using unconventional tactics to never even be suspected…

Lillen silently sneaked up behind the guard and pulled out a length of wire she had stored in her dress for just such an occasion. Couldn't let him see her face, of course – chances were every guard in the city had been told to watch for her. From out of the shadows, she reached, neatly wrapping the cord around the man's neck, and pushing her knee into his back, she pulled as hard as she could. The guard tried to cry out, but couldn't get the sound through his constricted throat. He struggled, but eventually Lillen felt the man's energy fade, and he collapsed against her. Quickly, she dragged the body out of the way, where it wouldn't be noticed straight away. Just long enough for no one to suspect until she was long gone.

She made her way through the gate and found the sho-wing, concealed under a tarpaulin in an abandoned lot. No one else knew that she knew how to fly, but then, it was facts like that which allowed her to do such things unsuspected. Climbing in, she noticed that some of the man's blood had spilled onto her hand. She dabbed it away absently. Soon she would be away, flying back to her home away from home, to Shayol Ghul…

_Moghedien has been described as an out-and-out coward who scoffed at those who took open risks, but at the same time envied their achievements and hated them… yet those who discounted her too far usually lived to regret it. Many people did not…_

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	12. Rahvin

**RAHVIN**

_Rahvin's two major weaknesses were his love of sycophancy and his fondness for women. Many people gained position in his administration by flattering him… and although a handsome man, he could not stand rejection. His lovers were seldom allowed any choice in the matter._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

Ared Mosinel lay awake, through the long night, silently contemplating his life. It had been another night of pleasure for him, as every night was for him now, and yet he enjoyed these quiet moments to trace the ceiling with his eyes and think quietly. He could never sleep.

He had spent his time these last few weeks arranging circumstances around him, as was his way. Now he was taking some time to relax and bask in the entertainment his actions had given him. He loved knowing that, even as he lay here in the darkness, events were taking place so far from him that an observer would have to scrutinize it as closely as they dared to see that he had been responsible for it in any way, and yet those very events were working in tandem in one another to his benefit. And the best bit was, he didn't even have to do anything.

Within a few days, everything would be in the perfect position and he would simply have to apply to slightest of input – push over the first domino – and sit back and watch as another territory fell to his master. It was almost too easy. That was why the forces of the Light would never win this war. Men like Lews Therin Telamon were too narrow-minded. They never thought outside the box, convinced as they were that to achieve anything, you had to put all the effort you had into it.

Ared had long ago seen that for the lie it was. Take Compulsion, for example. There were those who would simply use it to rob the target entirely of their free will, turn them into obedient slaves. Recently this particular crime had been on the rise, and victims usually had to be treated by Kamarile Maradim Nindar or another expert on damaged minds. No one could keep such a thing secret for long. It was an accident waiting to happen.

Ared had dedicated himself to mastering the finer parts of that particular aspect of the power. When used correctly, it left almost no trace. The woman lying asleep beside him would never even remember what had taken place tonight. And that was the way he preferred it.

Many people knew Ared for his looks, and he was often surrounded by women; it was occasionally said of him that he was almost too handsome. And yet, there were so many beautiful women in the world. All it meant was that he had no problem finding and choosing a pretty for the night. When the time came to have some fun, he wasn't going to let them spoil it for him.

He knew what that was about, too, although he didn't like to admit it, even to himself. Just thinking about it made him uncomfortable. When he had been much younger, long before the Collapse. There was one girl… all the girls had always been hanging all over him, but she was special. She was one of the only ones who never paid any attention to him. And he had gone after her, because there was something about her… but she told him that she hated him, that he disgusted her. And he didn't know what to do.

That's when he had learned of Compulsion, and its uses. Later – much later, once he had established his power under his new master, once he had perfected his skills – he had gone back and used his newest favourite trick on her, forced her into his bed. He had thought and hoped that it would allow him to move on, regain his self-assurance. He wanted to show her who was really in control. And at the very least, he'd get some enjoyment out of it.

He'd been wrong.

Now he hated himself more than ever, felt like the disgusting, horrible person she had said he was. How paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act! That night was the first time he had ever killed someone. Not that it made much difference; the amount of Compulsion he'd been forced to use had left her all but brain-dead.

But that night, he could have left it all behind, started anew. But he knew, deep down, that he simply wasn't strong enough to find anything but the remnants of the pleasure he still retained from his pretties. He could never understand any feeling stronger than the small joy he felt when someone complimented him, flattered him. It didn't matter if he knew they were lying. What mattered was that they knew he was stronger than them, that it was the only way to get past him.

Yes, he was shallow, he was vindictive, he was dissociative and everything else they said about him. But what did he care? Remorse just took away from his new-found enjoyment of life. All he cared about was getting ahead of other people, of becoming superior to them, and forcing them to acknowledge that fact. That was everything to him. He had the power within him, the strength, the cunning, the intelligence. And he would put them to use, serving under his new master. He alone would rule the world.

Quietly, he got up and walked out of the room. No one would ever know he was here. Back when he'd started, there had been some minor problems with the law, but that was then. Now, he was the law. No one could stand in his way.

It was a good life.

_Nothing is known of Rahvin before the collapse… and in truth not a great deal after. There is little doubt that he thirsted for power above all else, and turned to the Dark Lord to satisfy that power._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	13. Sammael

**SAMMAEL**

_Without a doubt Sammael fell in love with war, and very likely with the honors and privileges that went with being one of the best-known and highest-ranking generals._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

A dull hush had permeated the entire arena as the spectators held their collective breaths, waiting to see which of the two competitors would make the first move. With all the attention focused on him, Tel Janin Aellinsar felt like a god. All of these people who had come to watch knew that this was a momentous occasion, and he was at the heart of it… they were all just waiting on him.

It was moments like this that he lived for.

Well, these people would just have to wait. Tel Janin only had one aspiration in his life, and that was to be the very best at whatever he chose to do. Strategy, skill, ability – no one was simply born with these things. He had had to work hard to get them, learn from everyone willing to teach him, attune his state of mind to the point that tactics and insight came as naturally to him as breathing. This he had done. And he had come here, once again, to prove it.

The two men raised their swords and bowed to one another, then slowly started to move towards one another. The contest had begun.

Tel Janin's style of tactics was based on one crucial principle; that the competitor who made the first mistake would certainly lose. As a result, he was almost interested more in what his opponent did than what he himself was doing. He would defend himself and almost wait until that critical error was made – then he would strike, instinctively knowing exactly where to inflict the most damage and bring himself victory.

Many people called it unorthodox, but they couldn't argue with its success. Tel Janin had never been defeated at this particular sport, and was widely regarded as one of the very best at it to ever live. Now he was required to defend his title as world champion once again, an opportunity he always relished. Being the best in the world was pointless unless you could prove it, after all. He would rather lose than be champion in name only.

There was no longer any doubt in his mind, either. Everything he chose to do, he worked at harder and with more determination than anyone until he could do it as well as anyone. Some critics had even claimed that he had been unfairly using the One Power to boost his abilities as the only way to explain his dominance. It didn't faze him, though. Such claims were easily disproved, and besides, he knew that they only thought that way because he had trained every day of his life as they had never trained a day in theirs. He would fight exactly how he wanted to, not how anyone told him to. That was a right awarded only to the very best.

Other spectators preferred to speculate as to what would happen if Tel Janin ever faced off against Lews Therin Telamon. That didn't bother him, either. Lews Therin was one of his best friends, after all, and his duties in the Hall of Servants prevented him from being an active competitor. Admittedly his skill with the blade was superb, and he had certainly never lost a match, but Tel Janin didn't feel he had anything to prove. He was confident that they both knew how a contest between them would go.

And besides, while he loved the spirit of competition more than anything, he was still unwilling to risk his reputation needlessly. To tell the truth, he was almost a little fearful of losing; he didn't know what he would do if he was no longer the best in the world. It had almost become how he defined himself as a person. The honours and glory afforded to him by his position were everything to him. That was the reward for all the hard work, all the training, all the effort he put in. That was what he got out of it. And without that, where would he be? He couldn't afford to risk it, and he never did. That was why he always fought strategically, defensively, never giving away more than he needed to; it was integral to how he functioned.

His opponent continued to circle him, still not making his first move. What was wrong with him? Perhaps he was nervous. After all, Tel Janin was almost legendary, and had blown through most of the competition thus far. For a moment he considered giving the man the courtesy of a sporting chance, but then dismissed it. He wasn't here to give out charity, he was here to win.

So when the opponent lowered his sword and placed it behind his back, Tel Janin smiled to himself. The mistake had been made. He lunged forward to finish things there and then – and stumbled when the man sidestepped and spun at the same time, so that the sword behind his back now pointed straight at Tel Janin. The blade bounced harmlessly off him, of course – this wasn't supposed to be a violent sport, after all – but the psychological effects were far more devastating on him. He didn't know what had happened, but he was suddenly put in mind of something Lews Therin had said to him; "You know, Tel Janin, you have one great strength and one great weakness, and they're both the same thing. It's that you don't think like other people do."

At the time, Tel Janin hadn't understood, and was still confident that he in fact had no weaknesses. Was this what he was talking about, though? It hadn't been overconfidence that had drawn him into such a simple trap, nor had it been doubt. He just hadn't thought about it the same way his opponent had. But he was certain of one thing; they weren't going to get another opportunity.

And so, for the first time in a long time, Tel Janin Aellinsar attacked. And now his opponent found out exactly what Tel Janin had always claimed, and would always claim; that he could not be defeated; he was impossible to stop; he was the best.

_In the fourth year of the war Sammael suddenly went over to the Shadow… he believed that he was a better general than Lews Therin and deserved the overall command that had been given to the other man._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	14. Semirhage

**SEMIRHAGE**

_An unusually tall, dark-eyed woman possessed of remarkable calm and grace, the woman to be known as Semirhage was known for her ability to heal any injury, even to bring back people from the brink of death when all else had failed._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

Walking through the corridors and the halls where she worked, Nemene Damendar Boann's footfalls made little sound as they touched the cold floor. Here, regardless of all else, she felt safe. Inside her domain, her inner sanctum; she had requested privacy and her skills were such that people generally did as she asked. She glided softly through as a part of the place, just like the air did.

Which one today? She supposed that she knew already. Plenty of patients were kept here for 'observation', sometimes for weeks, but they mattered little to her when they were here and even less once they had gone. Upstairs, on the right. Just arrived. Some accident in the city. Details didn't bother here. But they always came to her, and she was always happy to receive the call.

That was how people knew her, she supposed. Out there. People were too often ready to shape the unknown into some familiar, an archetype they could understand. Seeing monsters in shadows. Likewise, she had heard those who did not know her giving her the strangest descriptions; warm, nurturing, mother-like. Smiling. You don't have to smile to be a mother.

Nemene smiled rarely, and even then she did so for reasons that some people found… unusual.

She valued her privacy.

"How are you today?" she asked as she brushed into the room, glancing at the man laying prone on the bed. A mere formality. She was no nurse.

"Much better," the man told her gratefully. "I had not known that even the Power was capable of such things… it's like a miracle."

So often did she hear such words. They didn't affect her. It took so much effort to make her feel. "Well, that's good. I expect you'll be able to walk around again in no time. But I have some news that you may find… unfortunate." The familiar look of uncertainty that clouded the features. "Your treatment hasn't quite finished yet." Human beings could be so predictable sometimes.

It always started suddenly – even now, her techniques had not been truly perfected – yet the lack of comprehension would take far longer to leave them. Sometimes they reacted in the strangest ways, as if they had been betrayed. But what did it have to do with her? Did they know her? No. Perhaps they thought they did, but now… well, now they got to meet the real Nemene. It was not a pleasant experience.

The man was saying something else, but Nemene was not listening. Even for someone with as intimate a knowledge of the human body as she, it was incredibly difficult to pinpoint specific parts of the brain with the Power. Luckily, only small amounts of Fire and Spirit in the exact right place produced the desired effect far better than she could have dreamed when she first discovered it. From there, it was simply a matter of the correct application, and that allowed her to make it last for hours at a time. Long, glorious hours.

"Are you going to kill me?" the man gasped between sharply drawn breaths.

They always thought that, for some reason. What possible value could there be in ending the life of a patient? Attentions would be raised and suspicions voiced if so many of the people she miraculously saved died mysteriously so soon afterwards. Even then, she had no wish to do it. Killing was as easy as dying, and any fool could do either; she had always pursued the higher arts, those needing a greater degree of skill. The beauty of the art was always one with the difficulty involved in creating it. In the eyes of the artist, anyway.

Besides, did they think that she feared discovery and capture? Nothing could be further from the truth. She knew all too well what her patients didn't, that they perhaps would not allow themselves to realise; that society only continued as it did by convincing people that they needed it to continue as it did, when in reality it needed them, it needed her. Her skills were such that she could not be ignored, and so those fools convinced themselves that she was one of them.

But what could be further from the truth? Here she was, after all, cut off from the world, in her own private dimension, her paradise, and they couldn't touch her. They relied on her to help them, and she accepted their requests with a heavy heart. Both angel and demon; worshipped in public and despised in private; neither benign nor truly malevolent, like a goddess. Like a mother.

And yet, she sometimes thought, why not bring some of that truth against them? Force them to realise what they kept from themselves? What she knew put her in a unique position, it gave her the power to start reshaping society as she saw fit. It would be dangerous, but surely worth it when they saw everything around them change into a world they could not understand… one ruled by her and her alone?

No. It was too risky. She could not live without her pleasures, could not contemplate the thought of losing them, and so she chose not to do the things that she _could_ do. That was her choice. Or at least, that's what she told herself. Deep down, she couldn't escape from what she feared was her own weakness, too terrible to even think about. She would content herself with her pleasures, and no more. For now.

She realised that in all her thoughts, she'd forgotten to give an answer. Well, that wouldn't do, even if he probably couldn't hear her by now. "I'm not going to kill you," she told him sweetly, leaning close. "I'm going to make you wish you were dead."

And Nemene smiled, her face radiant, made all the more beautiful by its rarity.

_In addition to being a Restorer, she was also a sadist… most patients were so grateful to be alive they made no comment about the suffering they endured… those people she felt society could do without, however, were not so lucky. If they did not die from the torture, she killed them after._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_


	15. The Way To Eternal Sorrow

**Epilogue: The Way to Eternal Sorrow**

_One thing is clear from a number of sources: the Forsaken schemed against one another with almost as much fervour as they schemed for the Shadow's conquest… these people wanted power, and the desire became an obsession._

_- excerpt from 'The Forsaken'_

And so it was that thirteen otherwise ordinary Aes Sedai turned to the Shadow, and were reviled for it. They were the thirteen who survived the Dark One's deadly regimen of winnowing out weakness amongst his servants; they were the thirteen whose names and crimes would be remembered for all time and never forgiven; they were the thirteen who were sealed in the Bore with their master, and who awakened three thousand years later to find the world greatly changed from the one they remembered.

And how did they feel, as they slowly emerged from their prison, from their long sleep? We cannot know for certain, but it is somewhat pleasing to think that they were contented with what they found. That the world did indeed still know and fear them as the most powerful people to have ever lived, where they would otherwise have been forgotten along with the rest of the Second Age. That, in the end, was all they wanted – and that was all they got.

After all, in the end, they had won. If they hadn't, who had? Lews Therin Telamon? For all his arrogance and 'moral superiority', now he was just as hated and feared as they were, perhaps more so. The Aes Sedai? Thanks to the Forsaken, they were still a shadow of their former selves even thousands of years later, wrapped up in their own greed and self-importance despite knowing no more than infants, allowing politics to dominate (and ensure the failure of) their every action. The Dragon Reborn, Rand al'Thor? His fate was as doomed as Lews Therin's, and it was clear that he was about to crack from the pressure at every moment.

Yes, in spite of everything, the Forsaken were perhaps the only ones to come out of the War of Power ahead. But they knew their work was not yet finished. After all, one thing still eluded them – the power that they had sold themselves to the Shadow for in the first place. The world itself still did not belong to them. Their war had started anew, and they would fight harder than ever, despite having more than they could have ever dreamed of in their old lives. They wanted more. They needed more.

For they knew what those fools deluded themselves into thinking was an untruth; that there was nothing else in life worth fighting for. Either you had everything, or you had nothing. They had tasted the forbidden fruit and now they could not stop themselves from trying to get more, to get it all. Death was nothing for them to fear any more. After all, they served the Lord of the Grave. But also, there was the simple fact that life was not worth living if they did not achieve their goal. To go back to their miserable origins, to a world that stifled them and would not allow them to be anything other than they were born to be – death would be preferable to the only alternative.

Yes, they were selfish, they were despised, they were psychotic and probably insane and everything else people said they were. But what did it matter? An insane emperor was still an emperor. As long as they had the power they craved, they didn't care about anything else. It was all they lived for. Every day of their existences, they felt its absence; and it burned them.


End file.
